


the way

by wildlings (candybank)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: M/M, tw: infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 06:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17421161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candybank/pseuds/wildlings
Summary: you say you don't love him — and you don't.





	the way

_i_

 

the thing about anything happening is that nothing ever happens the way you think it will. nothing is as bad as it seems – and just as well, nothing as good. and this is why ten has never quite understood fear. 

“what are you scared of? it’s just a presentation,” he says, metal and leather clanging together the way belt buckles tend to.

doyoung, standing on the side of the bed, pulling his zipper up, he knows ten can’t see him. because ten is sitting on the other side of the bed, pulling on his shirt. still, he squints at him.

“you’re scared of _fruits_ ,” he points out.

ten blows a raspberry. “is it really that hard to put it in a blender and turn it into juice? is that asking for too much?”

and there’s something else to be said here, some other conversation to be had – at least, there should be. there should be something you can say after leaving fingerprints all over somebody else’s body – at least, doyoung thinks there is, until he searches for the words, and comes up completely blank. 

he swallows the seconds, instead. grabbing his jacket, his keys, slipping into his slippers.

“your toes are ‘gonna freeze off,” ten says, already laying back in bed with a lit cigarette between his fingers. “what’s that called… hypothermia or something…” he trails off, inhaling sweet smoke into his lungs and poking his teeth with his tongue. 

doyoung looks at him like he’s dumb. hot, but dumb. and he thinks of telling him what it’s called but he’s forgotten the word for it, too. 

“you’ll kill it,” ten tells him. he’s staring at the ceiling when doyoung looks back. and there’s always something about the way ten says anything, like he doesn’t mean it – like he’s trying to push doyoung’s buttons.

but if he waits around to see which button ten will push, he’ll be late. so, doyoung nods and the door clicks shut behind him.

_johnny johnny yes papa – eating sugar no papa – telling lies no pap—_

“yellow?” ten answers the phone.

“i got pepperoni,” says the voice on the other line.

“it’s eight a.m…” ten looks at his wall clock.

“okayokay, i’ll be there in ten! loveyou,” the boy on the other end doesn’t seem to hear him.

 “okayokay, i’ll see you ~ loveyou,”

 

_ii_

 

there’s supposed to be something here, right? when you have something, you’re supposed to miss it when it’s gone. sweet hopeless romantic doyoung thinks that that’s how the world works.

but there is no missing here, no longing – unless longing is another way to say loathing, which it isn’t. doyoung has checked. so, he is about one-hundred-percent sure that he hates ten.

he’s sure that ten is annoying. from the way he talks to the way he walks and sometimes he breathes too loud and he says things that people shouldn’t say – and it’s annoying. ten is annoying. and unless annoyed is another word for jealous – which, it isn’t; doyoung has checked – then he is absolutely sure that this is true.

it’s not jealousy in the pit of his stomach when ten sits across the cafeteria and throws himself all over johnny seo and laughs too loud at johnny seo’s jokes and walks across the yard holding johnny seo’s hand.

but it isn’t an apology sitting on the tip of his tongue when he’s balls deep inside ten and ten’s phone is ringing with johnny [heart emoji] flashing brightly on the screen. sorry isn’t what he wants to say when johnny sits beside him in English class and helps him understand what a pronoun is.

“you say you don’t love him – and you don’t,” taeil picks at his fruit salad. “what’s so wrong with that?”

he’s so old and wise, doyoung thinks, as he watches him effortlessly pick the seeds out of his watermelon with a fork. and they’ve had this conversation a handful of times before: doyoung confused, trying to fit things into boxes, and taeil telling him it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.

“not everything is about love,” taeil says – almost flippant, and doyoung distantly wonders who hurt him. “ we’re mammals too, why can’t we fuck in peace like the rest of the animal kingdom? does everything have to be about love? what is that word, even, really?”

“um…” doyoung stares at his bowl of soup, “i guess not.”

he pushes his lips into a pout, still pensive. “i just didn’t know i could… you know… someone that i don’t like. … i… god, i just don’t like him at all, taeil! it’s so _weird_. like, am i a sex addict or something?”

“how often do you fuck?” 

doyoung swallows quickly, almost affronted but still fast on his feet, “twice a week—“

taeil grins.

“—usually.”

taeil laughs. “how long?”

“i… about like thirty minutes to an hour somet—“

taeil laughs more, “no, i mean how long have you been doing it with him?” 

“oh—oh, don’t know… a year…?”

and it’s just that doyoung is never uncertain about anything – much less numbers. taeil thinks it’s funny.

“well, are you having a good time?”

“yeah, i guess." 

“then, you have nothing to worry about.”

 

_iii_

 

having to climb down a fire escape with untied shoelaces, half a boner and risking a six-story fall isn’t doyoung’s idea of ‘nothing to worry about’ – but sure. johnny had come knocking when they were in the thick of it, and ten had pushed doyoung out of the window so fast that he was convinced ten was trying to kill him.

wouldn’t be the first time, he thinks, as he tries to watch where he’s going without letting his pants fall off. finally landing on the ground, he buttons his jeans and ties his laces, sighs to himself as he walks along – briskly, bag in front of his dick, finding the nearest (cleanest) comfort room.

 

_iv_

 

we should end it – words always spoken and never meant.

maybe it’s their version of the sex-induced i-love-you.

doyoung doesn’t know – doesn’t think. he comes to the late realization that maybe he likes being with ten because he doesn’t have to think around ten. then, he thinks – who the fuck could ever _like_ being around ten?

(johnny, the smart part of his brain reminds him. johnny loves being around ten. johnny loves ten. or, he must – since doyoung hears them saying it to each other all the time. i love you this, loveyou that, ‘no i’m just alone in my dorm’ as doyoung yanks ten’s pants down to his ankles.)

“you don’t have to think about it,” taeil says. “nothing to think about,” taeil says it again, but different – and with a smooch right smack on doyoung’s cheek. and doyoung, he loves this. he can’t help smiling. 

a week ago taeil had said, we’ve been friends for forever, i don’t have a crush on you or anything, this isn’t one of those, but don’t you think we’d be good together? and doyoung had wholeheartedly agreed. and so, they stop under a tree to kiss. and it’s better than doyoung could have ever thought – not that he ever really thought about it. 

but now that he’s thinking about it, it’s wonderful. and now that he’s looking at taeil, he thinks he might like it. and he’s thinking, thinking, thinking. 

taeil isn’t ten, doyoung has to think around him. taeil isn’t ten, doyoung likes being around him.

and taeil – doyoung can think about him, so he thinks about him.

“you’re meeting with him tonight?” taeil asks, as if he’s asking if it’s going to rain.

“uh…” and despite taeil’s endless reassurance and endless attempts to make him understand, doyoung is still confused by it. “yeah—maybe. he said he’d text.”

“okay,” taeil says coolly, no venom and no malice – and doyoung wonders how one person can be so sure of himself. they’re walking back on the path when taeil looks at him, “do you want me to hold your hand?” he asks, laughing at how red doyoung’s ears get.

“okay…”

 

_v_

it’s pizza night. again and again. the scene set like any other: johnny taking up more than half of ten’s tiny couch and ten sprawled across his lap, picking the pineapple out of his slice.

“… i could have asked them to take the pineapples out…” johnny watches him curiously. 

“shh,” ten replies, picking out two more before looking up at him. “taking them out is half the fun,” he smiles softly, cupping johnny’s face in his palm and leaning in for a kiss. it’s a very romance-movie kind of kiss for a very romance-movie kind of couple. a romantic comedy, maybe, with the audience laughing with them and at them, but still a romance all the same. ten kisses johnny until he forgets his fingers and the pizza falls on the floor. and ten straddls johnny’s lap and wraps arms around his neck and kisses him more, more, more.

slowly, slowly – the start of a drive into a long night. (nothing like haphazardly shoving his hand down doyoung’s jeans in the janitor’s closet – drag racing in broad daylight.)

 

_vi_

 

doyoung fucks yuta the soccer player and taeil gets upset.

“what—i’m not doing it for you, doyoung? _ten_ ’s not doing it for you?”

“i—“

“why would you—why did you— …” taeil stops when he sees the look of confusion in doyoung’s eyes. “what… doyoung, what do you think this is?” 

“i…” and doyoung feels himself scrambling – for answers, reasons, something to explain what’s happening. no water welling up behind his eyes when he thinks this is the time it should happen, and it makes him feel afraid.

and taeil sees this too, taking a breath and stopping for a moment.

“i need a second, okay,” taeil says, picking his bag up off of the floor and zipping it closed.

“where are you— … … … are we breaking up…?”

“what? no—no, we’re not. i get it, okay? i get it. i just need a second.

i’ll call you. keep your phone on.”

 “… okay…”

so, taeil leaves and doyoung hears the click of the door much louder than he should. and he stays up all night, eyes dry, waiting for his phone screen to light up.

 

 

> **01:27 AM**  
>  **from: ten**  
>   u busy?

 

**Author's Note:**

> stan wayv


End file.
